


Bitter/Sweet

by Blondie54x



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 10:34:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18754687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blondie54x/pseuds/Blondie54x
Summary: Originally written for Easter Egg 2019 challenge.Part 1: Bitter.Napoleon makes an error of judgement.Part 2: SweetIllya tries to make amends.





	Bitter/Sweet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lgvu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lgvu/gifts).



> Part 1 of this story was originally my contribution to the Easter Egg 2019 challenge (LGVU’s prompts were: Napoleon- centred slash story with trains, heart break and rainy nights). I fulfilled the prompts, but decided I couldn’t leave Napoleon like that. So the second part of this story, hopefully, makes amends.   
> Note: Both parts are slightly amended from those posted on LJ.

**Part 1 – Bitter (Napoleon’s Lament)**

As the train pulled out of the Cincinatti Union station and the landscape gradually changed from inner city sprawl to verdant countryside, Napoleon stared out of the window oblivious to the beautiful scenery flashing by. The heavy rain streamed down the glass like copious tears, a reflection of his emotional turmoil as his thoughts turned inwards, preoccupied with his reckless action the previous night. _Stupid, stupid, stupid. How could I have been so stupid?_

He started as the door slid open and Illya slipped through, taking the seat opposite. “I’ve reported in with Mr. Waverley. He’s sending a clean-up crew from the Cincinatti office to take care of things.”

Napoleon nodded. “Good. Rather them than us.” He turned his attention back to the legal pad balanced on his knee, his pen hovering a moment over the paper. So far, the only thing written there was the date in one corner. He added a couple of mundane sentences about the assignment they’d just completed, acutely aware of the silence stretching uncomfortably between them.

Eventually, Illya asked, “Are you okay?” Napoleon nodded absently before turning his attention back to the legal pad. Illya sighed loudly. “Are _we_ okay?”

Napoleon’s head jerked up. “Of course. I’m sorry, I’m just making notes for our report while it’s still fresh in my mind.”

Another silence ensued, while Napoleon tried to look like he was diligently writing, but Illya wasn’t about to let it drop. “Napoleon, about last night…” Illya started slowly.

Napoleon winced. He was hoping Illya would just pretend it never happened. Napoleon couldn’t.

He hadn’t been prepared for the rejection, unused to misreading a situation so badly. Last night in their hotel room, after they’d downed a bottle of Kentucky Bourbon between them, he’d let down his guard. Sitting shoulder to shoulder, drinking and laughing over the day’s events, Napoleon had looked at Illya and their eyes had met and lingered and it had seemed the most natural thing to do - he leaned in for a kiss. Their lips had barely touched when Illya jerked away as though Napoleon’s mouth had been hot coals. It was like a slap to the face. Horrified by his actions, Napoleon had hastily apologized, picked up his jacket and left the room, left the hotel, and if it had been possible he’d have left the country. He burned with shame and fretted over what he’d done, walking endlessly till the sky lightened and his feet ached. He’d decided, on his return, to try to put it out of his mind, act like it hadn’t happened. Easier said than done. He just hoped his faux pas wouldn’t damage their partnership.

Illya cleared his throat, bringing him out of his introspection. “Napoleon, we need to talk about this.”

Napoleon smiled wanly. He knew his partner was right; this wasn’t going to go away.

“What can I say? I’m sorry. Too much booze, not enough sleep. I was… confused.”

Illya spoke slowly. “It’s not that I’m not flattered. Or tempted. I just don’t think it’s a good idea. Given our profession.”   He leant forward, anxiously rubbing his hands along his thighs. Napoleon wished he wouldn’t; the action was distracting. “You know I care about you? I don’t want this to come between us. I don’t want to lose your friendship.”

Of course Napoleon knew he cared; you didn’t put your life in jeopardy so often to save your partner if you didn’t. But he’d thought – no hoped – that Illya more than cared. But if friendship was all that was on offer, Napoleon would take what he could. He couldn’t lose Illya. He looked at him, seeing the worry reflected on his face. Napoleon smiled, genuinely this time. “You’ll never lose my friendship.”

Illya’s shoulders seemed to lose some of their tension. He nodded and stood. “Greta and Inga have invited us to join them for a drink. Will you come?”

It hurt a little that Illya would think he could be easily distracted by a pretty woman, like some sort of consolation prize. He forced a genuine-looking smile. “Sounds good. Get the drinks in. I’ll finish up these notes and join you in a minute.”

Seemingly mollified, Illya left and Napoleon leaned his head against the window, heedless to the cold, damp condensation. He just needed a moment alone, a moment to get into character; Illya wasn’t the only one good at disguises. On the outside, he would play the Lothario, flatter and charm the two Swedes and trade banter and outlandish tales with Illya to impress the ladies. Everything would appear as it should be. Inside, his heart would be breaking.

With a sigh, he turned his head to watch the rain pouring down the window. It somehow fitted his mood.

**End of Part 1**

_(Author’s note:  At this point, I felt bad for Napoleon and couldn’t leave it there. So, I wrote the following, to redress the situation….)_

**Part 2 – Sweet (Illya’s Truth)**

It was Friday night and the knock at his door was unexpected.

Napoleon paused in his ablutions, wiped his hand on a towel and walked over to the door, checking the peephole to see who it could be. Illya’s blue eyed gaze stared back.

Napoleon hesitated a moment, wondering what his partner could want. They hadn’t seen much of each other since their last assignment a few days ago, and if Napoleon were being honest, he’d been avoiding him. That night in Cincinatti, when Napoleon had drunkenly made a pass at his friend, was still painfully sharp in his memory. Even now, thinking about it, brought a flush of shame to his face.

Illya’s knock came again, harder and louder. Napoleon threw the door open with a flourish. “Illya,” he said, unnecessarily loud.

“Observant as usual,” his partner replied. One eyebrow rose as Napoleon just stared at him. “Are you going to keep me on the doorstep?”

Napoleon shook his head and stood aside, gesturing him in. “Sorry. I’m just surprised to see you here.”

“Oh? I have been to your apartment before, you know.”

Napoleon winced at the sarcasm. “I meant, I thought you were busy. Didn’t you have an experiment in the lab you had to attend to?”

“Oh, that. That blew up,” Illya said, with a wave of his hand. “I left Jenkins sweeping up the mess.” He walked into the center of the room and noticed Napoleon’s overcoat resting over the back of the sofa. “Were you on your way out?”

“I have a date with a lovely lady called Anne I met at the grocery store,” Napoleon said, glancing at his watch. “But I’m not due out for another hour. I have time. What can I do for you?”

Illya reached into his pocket, pulling out an envelope. “It’s more a case of what I can do for you.”

He held the envelope out and Napoleon took it with a frown. The envelope was large, unsealed and contained a small stack of photographs. Napoleon pulled them out, sifting through each one, feeling anger welling up with each picture.

“What is this?” He fisted the photographs and shook them in Illya’s face. “This is Ann, my date for tonight. Why are you following her and taking photographs.”

Illya sighed. “I didn’t follow her, Mark Slate followed her. He was somewhat surprised to see her talking to you. He brought it to my attention, and now I’m bringing it to yours.”

Napoleon’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Because her real name is Gina Russo. She’s an independent assassin, who works occasionally for Thrush. She’s very good at what she does. She’s a markswoman, has a black belt in Ninjutsu and has a sadistic tendency to torture her victims before killing them.”

Napoleon’s face blanched. “Really?” He swallowed hard as he looked down at the photos, seeing the sweet, round face of the woman he’d talked to only hours earlier. “She seemed so… nice.”

“She gave an Oscar winning performance, I’m sure.”

Napoleon dropped the photographs onto the coffee table. “Well, that’s my evening ruined. Why was Mark following her?”

“She took out one of our agents in the London office. Mark was given the assignment to track her down. He followed her, while she followed you.”

Something clicked into place in Napoleon’s brain. “So it wasn’t a coincidence bumping into her at the supermarket.”

“No.”

Napoleon sat heavily down onto the sofa. “Boy, do I feel an ass.”

“Feel lucky instead.” Illya’s mouth turned up at one corner. “Look, it’s not the first time you’ve allowed yourself to be distracted by a pretty face. You just need to be more cautious.”

Napoleon shook his head. “She seemed so innocent. She stopped me and asked me to reach for something off the top shelf and we ended up chatting like old friends over the fresh produce.”

“She’s good, I’ll say that.” Illya walked over to Napoleon’s drinks cabinet, pulling out two glasses and a bottle of bourbon.

Napoleon rubbed his hands over his face before looking up at Illya. “Thank God you came by with this information before I’d left. Lord knows how the evening would have ended.”

“Well,” Illya said, taking a seat next to Napoleon. “She removed the testicles of her last victim and stuffed them in his mouth before garroting him with cheese wire. Angelique looks like Mary Poppins compared to her. I think you’ve had a close call.”

Napoleon couldn’t agree more. He gestured to the bottle and glasses in Illya’s hand. “Helping yourself to my booze?”

“As you pointed out, I’ve ruined your night out. I think the least I can do is keep you company as compensation.”

Napoleon’s mind went instantly to the unfortunate incident a few nights ago, when he’d made a pass at Illya. The rejection still stung.

“Ah, Illya, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Really? I think it’s one of my better ones.”

“No, seriously. If I’m going to drown my sorrows I think it’d be safer if I did it alone.”

“Safer for who?” Illya poured a generous amount of the golden liquid into each glass, without waiting for a reply. He handed one to Napoleon, holding his aloft. He paused a moment and said, “Here’s to Dutch courage.” He downed the contents in one swallow and refilled his glass.

Napoleon, untouched drink in hand, said, “Never heard that used as a toast before. Dutch courage?”

“Yes. Historically, Dutch soldiers were said to drink before battle to fortify themselves for victory.” Ignoring Napoleon’s puzzled expression, Illya swiftly swallowed the second shot, replacing the empty glass on the coffee table with a thump. He cleared his throat. “So, here goes. About that night in Cincinatti…”

“Cincinatti?”

“Yes. I’ve been thinking. Perhaps I overreacted.”

“Overreacted?”

Illya shook his head. “Napoleon, if you keep repeating everything I say, this is going to take all night.”

Napoleon motioned zipping his lips shut and waved a hand for him to proceed.

“You took me by surprise when you tried to kiss me. I wasn’t expecting it.”

Napoleon opened his mouth to say something, but snapped it shut at Illya’s warning look.

“I thought about it all night.” His head shook slightly and his eyebrows rose widening his eyes. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it.” He turned to face Napoleon. “We’d both had too much to drink and I thought, perhaps, under the influence of alcohol it was an automatic reflex on your part. But you were clearly upset the next morning on the train. And you seem to have been avoiding me since.” He tugged self-consciously at his ear. “I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what would have happened if I hadn’t reacted the way I did and drove you away, and wondering... weighing up the pros and cons of us becoming… intimate.”

The last sentence was unexpected: hope blossomed in Napoleon’s mind. Pledged to silence, his eyebrows rose in question.

Illya continued, “As I see it, the ‘cons’ are that as partners in a dangerous occupation, we depend on each other. If we became involved but then broke up, could we continue to work together? How would I feel watching you romance some woman, even if it was for an assignment? What would happen if Mr Waverley found out and, heaven forbid, wanted to split us up?” Illya’s eyes fell, suddenly finding the crease in his pants interesting. “I don’t want to lose you, Napoleon.”

Awed by the declaration, Napoleon dared to reach out his hand, resting it gently on top of Illya’s restless one. “And the ‘pros’?”

Illya looked up and smiled. “There is only one. You.”

Napoleon was warmed by that admission. “I thought you were repulsed by what I did.”

“No.” Illya added, “If you recall, on the train I said I was tempted.”

Now Napoleon thought about it, he did remember that remark, but he’d been so focused on Illya’s negative words, that significant line got overlooked.

Napoleon swallowed hard. He wanted to be certain he understood what Illya was trying to tell him. “Sooo… are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Illya shrugged. “If you think I’m saying I regret reacting poorly to your attempt to kiss me a few nights ago and have spent the last few days deeply lamenting my actions and wondering how I can rectify my mistake without making too much of a fool of myself, then…” He took a deep breath. “…yes.”

Napoleon’s heart knocked against his chest as he shuffled a little closer. “And… to be clear so there’s no misunderstanding… if I were to, say,” He cocked his head from side to side, “… lean in and kiss you now, would I be interpreting your statement correctly?”

Illya turned his hand into Napoleon’s, giving it a squeeze. “Indubitably.”

Napoleon frowned slightly. “Just to be sure, that means ‘yes’, right?”

Illya rolled his eyes. “Oh, Napoleon.” He leaned over, pressing his lips firmly against Napoleon’s, his hand gripping his shoulder to keep him in place. After a couple of minutes, the need for oxygen forced them apart. “Is that clear enough?”

Napoleon’s eyes were closed and they opened sluggishly, as if from a drugged state. A sappy smile appeared on his face. “I’m not sure,” he said slowly. “Maybe I need more persuading, just so there’s no lingering doubt.”

Illya kissed him again, longer and harder, dispelling any misgivings. When they paused once more for breath, he said, “Let me know when I’ve convinced you.”

“Uh-huh. I will.” He pulled Illya back, sliding them both to lay prone on the sofa. “It may take a while, though,” he said with a smile.

Illya grinned back. “We have all night. You no longer have a date for tonight, remember?”

“Thanks to you. Let me show you how grateful I am.”

And Napoleon showed his gratitude well into the night. And the next day. And the day after that, and the day after that….

 

**The End**

 

 


End file.
